Lucky Coin

Old Man

23 Geoffrey Street was a beautiful little house. The walls were built with red and black bricks, forming diamond-shaped patterns. The porch and window sills were intricately carved, and the wooden door was reinforced with iron bars, which formed elegant patterns, combining both beauty and strength.

Who would have thought that a madman lived here?

Lape walked up to the house and pulled a rope at the door, immediately setting off a bell inside.

Suddenly, there was a muffled explosion from the top floor. The sound wasn’t too loud, so the explosion probably wasn’t very powerful.

Lape was startled at first, but then let out a sigh of relief—the madman probably wasn’t dead.

“Damn bastard, sewer rat, toad by the cesspool, I’ll grind you into mince, stomp the bile right out of you…” Amidst a string of furious curses, the madman came running down from upstairs, his footsteps unusually hurried.

The door suddenly swung open, and an old man with a balding head, surrounded by a ring of wild, unruly white hair, rushed out. His forehead was high and deeply wrinkled, his eye sockets sunken, but his eyes were wide and bulging. Half of his face was blackened with soot. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, with eyes full of anger and a hint of madness.

Despite his age, the old man moved quickly. He grabbed Lape by the collar and yanked him inside. “Tell me, boy, did you come here just to sabotage my work? Did Pieste send you? That bastard knows I’m about to succeed, so he sent you to mess things up…”

The old man kicked the door shut and pinned Lape against it.

Lape didn’t dare move. He had also thought the old man was just a crazy magic enthusiast, but the moment he stepped inside, he realized something was off. The room was filled with chaotic energy, and the concentration of various elements was incredibly high.

One of the previous owners of the lucky coin had been a magician, as Lape had briefly learned last night. He now suspected that this old man wasn’t just some delusional magic fanatic, but a genuine magician.

“I’m here to deliver a package. I have your package with me,” Lape shouted.

“Package?” The old man released his grip, looking Lape up and down until he realized Lape was a postman. The old man had a certain madness to him, especially when he was angry. But he also understood the consequences of truly irritating the post office and being blacklisted, which would mean he’d have to resort to sending messages like a magician from a century ago, buying an owl to deliver them. Who would be foolish enough to do that nowadays?

After taking the package from Lape, the old man opened it, glanced inside, cursed under his breath, signed for it, and tossed the receipt back to Lape.

“Mr. Magician, do you have a way to destroy something cursed?” Lape asked quietly, still hoping to find a fundamental solution to his problem. To him, the lucky coin felt like a cursed object.

“Cursed?” The old man looked Lape over skeptically. To be honest, he didn’t believe Lape was qualified to deal with such things.

Lape didn’t offer an explanation; instead, he pulled the coin from his pocket.

The old man cast a doubtful glance at it but sensed no magical energy.

“Why don’t you try to destroy it?” Lape asked softly.

“Let’s hope you’re not joking, or else…” The old man scoffed lightly, took the coin, and headed straight upstairs.

Lape followed closely behind.

The laboratory was on the top floor, the very place that had just exploded. From the outside, the house looked beautiful, but inside it was like a mountain of garbage. The first floor served as a living room and kitchen, but it was cluttered with all sorts of things, giving it the feel of a warehouse. The second floor contained the bedrooms and study, yet the floor was covered in piles of books, with even the stairway blocked by books, while the shelves stood mostly empty. The third floor was even worse, resembling a battlefield, with several tables scattered haphazardly, each covered in various equipment, and the space beneath the tables crammed full of items.

The old man grabbed an empty beaker and walked to a corner where several round barrels were stored. These barrels looked like ordinary beer kegs, with taps that would dispense beer if opened. However, the taps were unusual, gleaming silver with magical engravings.

The old man turned one of the taps, and a slightly reddish liquid flowed out, filling about one-third of the beaker before it stopped. He tossed the lucky coin into the beaker.

The old man was using a highly potent acid; if this had been an ordinary coin, it would have been unable to withstand the acid's corrosion. However, the lucky coin was not an ordinary coin, and after waiting a while, there was still no sign of any corrosion.

“Interesting,” the old man said, his expression growing serious as his eyes began to shine with interest.

After retrieving the coin, he placed it on a tray and then picked up a pair of glasses from the side.

“If you don’t want to go blind, you’d better turn around and even close your eyes,” the old man said coldly.

Lape complied without hesitation. He wasn’t worried that the old man would swap the coin; if he really could do that, he would be pleased—losing the lucky coin wouldn’t be a bad thing.

A series of hissing sounds came from behind, sharp and grating, sending chills down Lape's spine. Accompanying the noise was a blinding light. With his back turned, all he could see was the reflection on the wall, and his eyes couldn't stand it; he could hardly imagine what would happen if he were to look directly at it.

After five or six minutes, the noise finally stopped.

“This thing is indeed interesting,” the old man said, having taken the coin down. He turned it over in his hands, examining it from different angles. After a moment, he added, “If you trust me, you can leave it here… or I can buy it from you. How much do you want?”

Lape had already turned around. “If you could break the curse, I wouldn’t mind giving it to you. Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” he sighed.

“Why not?” the old man asked.

“I’ve tried throwing it away, even tossing it into the sea, but it always finds its way back to me,” Lape replied.

“Now that’s even more interesting,” the old man mused, stroking his chin. An object with such a property could not be an ordinary magical item; it was likely a legendary artifact, akin to the Sword in the Stone, the Black Bow, or the God-Slaying Spear.

“How do you know this thing is cursed?” the old man asked.

“There’s a ghost inside it,” Lape didn’t mention the coin’s lucky properties or the legendary figures who had once possessed it, fearing it might spark the old man’s greed.

“If we can’t destroy the coin, can you help me get rid of the ghost inside?” Lape proposed as a fallback. He felt that the ghost was forcing him to seek revenge and was likely acting out of personal vendetta, while the coin itself shouldn’t have such restrictions.

The old man's eyes darted around, increasingly convinced that this was a legendary artifact. Artifacts often had their own will and could sometimes take on human forms, known as "tool spirits." He assumed that Lape, being young and naive, mistook a tool spirit for a ghost; in a sense, the two were quite similar.

“I’m not skilled at exorcising ghosts. You have two choices: one is to join the church and use holy power to banish the ghost; the other is to learn black magic and gain the ability to communicate with ghosts.”

Of course, the old man was not genuinely offering guidance; he proposed the first option to determine whether the entity in the coin was a tool spirit or a ghost. If it were a ghost, it would react in any temple. The second option was more self-serving.

The old man had contemplated killing for treasure, but he feared it might backfire. Artifacts were notoriously unpredictable; if it refused to acknowledge him as its new master, all his efforts would be in vain. It was better to leave it in the hands of this young man, as he could enlist Lape's help for experiments when needed.

“I don’t know any other wizards. Can you teach me?” Lape asked anxiously, just as the old man had anticipated.

The old man feigned reluctance, shaking his head. “I’m not a black magician.”

“At least you can give me some pointers, right?” Lape thought to himself, feeling a glimmer of hope.

Lape didn’t suspect the old man had ulterior motives. From the memories of the lucky coin, he knew that wizards belonged to many different factions. The old man seemed to be an alchemist, a type of wizard focused on the transformation of materials. In fact, there were numerous branches within alchemy; some specialized in creating magical items, while others excelled in potion brewing. The former could be further divided into large-scale and small-scale practitioners, much like the difference between architects and jewelers. Therefore, the idea that a wizard could be all-powerful was a myth; the saying “different trades, different mountains” applied to wizards as well.

“I can only teach you some basics, but…” The old man feigned a troubled expression. “I can’t teach you for free.”

“I can help you with chores, even clean up and organize your room,” Lape said eagerly. His latter statement wasn’t out of servitude; he was considering his own comfort. To be honest, he couldn’t stand staying in a place that resembled a garbage dump for even a quarter of an hour. If it wasn’t tidied up, he would feel uneasy all over.

“That's worth considering.” The old man was intrigued. He had previously hired a few servants, but none had lasted a full week.

“Can you pay me a bit?” Lape asked with some lack of confidence, fearing the old man might refuse. He wasn’t being greedy; training with a sword required proper nutrition, and swordsmen needed to eat more than average people. Practicing magic, of course, also required money.

“No problem; I’ll pay you fifty Bisha a month.” The old man replied without hesitation, recalling that this was the salary he had offered his last servant, which was double the average wage. Even so, that servant hadn’t lasted a full week.

The old man wasn’t short on money; as a wizard, he certainly had financial resources, and as an alchemist, he was even more well-off. Alchemists were among the wealthiest of wizards.

“Then it’s settled.” Lape was overjoyed and then glanced at his mailbag, murmuring, “I’ll go deliver the letters first and come back afterward.”

“Go ahead, go ahead,” the old man said cheerfully. Suddenly, he called out to Lape, rushed to the first floor, and began rummaging through the drawers in his study. After a moment, he pulled out a key and ran back down to hand it to Lape. “From now on, just come in directly and don’t ring the bell. I have to redo my experiments; I won’t have time to teach you today, so when you come, just help me tidy up the room.” He suddenly slapped his forehead and dashed back upstairs, returning shortly after to toss a pair of dirty gloves into Lape’s hands. “These are strength-enhancing gloves. When you wear them, your strength will be equivalent to that of five strong men, making it easy to move things.”

Lape was thrilled and immediately put the gloves on.

“Don’t get too excited,” the old man warned from the side. “Magic doesn’t create something from nothing; it follows the principle of equivalent exchange. Whatever you gain, you must give something in return. The strength you get from the gloves still comes from your body, so you’ll tire quickly.”

Lape’s excitement faded instantly. He had hoped to use the gloves to compensate for his lack of strength. The breathing technique he chose significantly improved his speed and reaction time, but it did little for his strength, leaving it as a weakness. Given the choice between strength and endurance, Lape would undoubtedly choose endurance.